


Digital Aeons

by LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Cyberpunk, F/F, Lovecraftian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe/pseuds/LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe
Summary: The strange aeon spoken of in blasphemous tomes has come. Sunken R'yleh rises not from the Atlantic, but from the byssal depths of the Deep Web, and the stars that have come right shine their hateful light down on a poor and desperate street samurai.Exiled by her former team, blacklisted by her former company, Anne Hallow is entangled not only in the machination of cult and corporation, but the monofilament wires of horrific destiny.





	Digital Aeons

**Author's Note:**

> Gods above it is simultaneously fun and draining to write narration in the voice of such an insufferable dickbag. Fortunately, next chapter is narrated by our somewhat... earthier protag.

__

Do you see it?

  
Beneath the surface.

  
See it in flashing motion caught on deep-sea cameras in the Marianas Trench. Smell it in an acrid tang to luminescent waves in Rio. Feel it in the unnatural charge in the storm clouds over London.

  
Read it in the rumors of certain private Deep Web chat rooms (but don’t get caught!), and hear it encoded in strange ciphers and codes broadcast on the numbers channels; tune in and zone out. There! Caught in snarled webs of graffiti, betwixt “Call 555-1234 for a good time” and “Kilroy was here,” see it encoded in the cryptography of the street! Be careful, hidden within the oh-so-90s S-shapes are strange and contagious memes; consider not too deeply lest you be considered.

  
Like the augur, I divine it in the unspun entrails of coding hauled up from the steaming belly of the digital beast, and like the libanomancer I trace the patterns of pollutants billowing forth from the smokestacks, devouring the revelations therein. I cross-reference the maddened babble of MyBook bots and predictive text generators with the eerily-prescient scribings of first-century prophets, then run the whole thing through several layers of automated decryption.

  
And behold! All that was old is made new again, and the prophets of old are the homeless junkies of today and the churches are empty of hosannas but the warlocks of the twenty-first century have cushy tech jobs and great dental coverage, and the cubicles throng with the hordes of miracle-workers. From this mechanical witch of Endor is risen a great mighty shade, the Phantom of Truth made manifest through scientific magicks and the Arte Scientificke.

The writing is on the wall, chummer.

That Is not Dead, as the poet has it, and in this strange, digital aeon… 

 

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****

  
h̩̹͡E̸͎͉̮l̦̺̘̘̘̹̜͘L͠o͏̙̳̬ ̠͙͕̜̝̫f͓̝̜̝͓͢R͏̥i̧͖͕e̸̼N̩͓̤̹̦͈D̛̥̠̺̫̬

  
̣̘̤̳͢w̵̹͇̺E̶̖̣ ̟̣̹͚̪̤̹S̥E͙̪ͅe̯ ͍̤y̸O̥̖̳u҉̖̩

  
́p̣L͙̘̝̩̼̱ẹ̲͚̞͡ͅA͓̬̟ͅŞ͖̗̱̮̘e̹ ̤͔̖͙̥̘̳d̖̫̙̙̬̮O̖N’̶̥͙͖͚ͅt̜̥̦͎̗ ̭̬͇̦̣ͅb͓̺̯̭͕̀Ẹ̛ ͏͍a̞̰̱͔F͈̟͖r҉͚̭̳̘͈a̪I̝͎̱̗̜d̛̮͖ͅ

 **  
**t̴͍̟̯ͅh̢I̤͈̠͟s̮̝̹̺ h̳̘͚̳͈̮̭a͈͇̗̬͎̻S̬̟ b̸̻͍͚E̦͓̜E͉̳̹̖͚̞ń̦̰͓̮̰̱̲ d̝̩̩͉̺͓̪͟e̸͖̦̙̖͕̻ͅL̝a̧͎͓͔̻Y̫̻e͚̬͈̱͠d̙͡ f̸O̶̭͔͈r̺̰ ͎̝͍̞͉̝̕f̲̠͉̘̝̖a̫͎̫̖͍͟R͈̹͍͉̩͖̖ ̱̜̬̝̻̺ͅŢ̘̹̤̫̻ǫ͍̙̜̣̟ͅỌ͔͙̖̰͖ ̶͓̙ĺ͖̜̪̭̪̱̰ò̼̮̫͙̬̰n͖̼͓̱̜͔͚̕G҉  
̟̙̻̘͕ͅ


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